This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Drill headed into the Old Tavern Club, the subtle BDSM club that was the front for his brother Drongo's shifter rescue operation. Having members who needed discretion and wouldn't blab themselves if they saw weird things made the place legit and let them offer safe places for their rescues to stay. Only a handful of people who worked in the club knew what was really going on.

He smiled at the twink working the coat check tonight. He'd had that ass a time or two. Over his knee, around his cock. As a part of his cover as a club member, of course.

"Good. I'm building a third golf course on the far side of the city." He made a good living with the golf courses, and the best part was that they practically ran themselves, giving him a lot of time for his true passion -- helping with the shifters that made their way here.

It was Pirou who answered him, Fargo fading away to the other end of the bar. "Excellent. I'm glad to hear it." There were heavy lines of worry on Pirou's face and they looked totally out of place.

The slinky kitty worked hard, but Drill knew he loved his job, was happiest working at it, helping people.

He found that hard to believe, given that Pirou was the soul of the Old Tavern Club. "What did you do?"

"You know how, sometimes, I find an unusual rescue and bring it in even though it's not our usual werewolf or werekitty?"

Something like constantly? Pirou was the softest touch on Earth and had contacts everywhere. Like he was almost scarily connected.

"I have heard you have a hobby, yes." Drill teased gently. His brother often said that he had a theory that Pirou went out of his way looking for the hard cases, for the strange beasts.

"Well, I have one downstairs. He's... special. Like for real. Like oh, my God."

"They aren't all special?" He wasn't teasing anymore -- it was an honest question. He could remember the lion Pirou had taken in, the poor thing so bedraggled and abused no one had thought he'd live. No one except Pirou, who had nursed the beast back to health. Then there'd been the zebra. Talk about high-strung. They weren't really equipped to deal with equine shifters, didn't have anyone qualified to help them. Pirou had made it happen.

"Yeah, but most of them are normal special. Not about-to-get-me-fired special."

"Okay, okay, you did it -- I'm intrigued now." Because Drill couldn't imagine anything that would make Drongo fire his beloved Pirou.

"He's in the basement. He's sedated. I'm scared to let him wake up."

"You're making him sound like a serial killer."

"God, I hope not." Pirou's fervent words made him even more intrigued.

They headed past the kitchen, deep into the basement. It was clean, but... uncomfortable. Underground was far away from the air, from the sky and clouds.

Drill wrinkled his nose. "A vampire?"

"No. No, he's... Here. It's easier to just show you. I won't open the door, in case he's awake."

Drill pressed his nose against the window in the door, but it was dark and he couldn't see anything. Before he could complain, Pirou pressed a button and a light came on highlighting a shape draped over the mattress, which was the only furniture the room boasted.

"Why is he here?" There had to be a reason the dragon was one of Pirou's special projects and sedated. Hell, Drill hadn't even known there was such a thing as a dragon shifter. No, he hadn't even known there was such a thing as a dragon. They were a thing of legends.

"The slavers had him. My contact said that they hadn't managed to get him to wake yet."

"Slavers!" That made him growl. "So you don't know if he's even sane or not, let alone a shifter."